Not Just A Box
by voxinatwitch
Summary: Sam is sitting in the Impala, parked in a desolate field when a madman with a blue box appears from nowhere. He and Dean grapple with what to do with this 'impossible man' who understands the most improbable of things, including their deepest secrets.
1. Chapter 1

Sam sat in the driver's seat of the Impala, gazing across the sun-scroched earth of the August fields. Dean was off hours, with some girl, leaving Sam alone, alone with his thoughts, a little too much time to think. It had been a quiet week, but he knew that never lasted-  
Nope. It never did.

He could feel something in the air moments before it started. The crackle of an eerie force as the wind picked up, out of nowhere- a feeling that made him instinctively nervous, set on edge. As a hunter, he didn't run from that feeling.  
Nope. He reached for his sidearm with one hand, and the EMF detector with the other.  
As he was opening the car door, the noise started.  
He stood, feeling his hair fly wildly in the increasing flurry of wind, shielding his eyes as great whorls of dust rose from the epicenter of the windstorm, a bare spot on the path about 50 feet ahead of him.  
The EMF detector was whining in his left hand, the needle dancing from zero to blazing with the vibration of an odd rhythm-it was like a pulse he thought, at first, only in the atmosphere itself.  
Yet, it grew stronger, louder, crackling in and out of existence like the bass of a car's subwoofers a block a way.  
But no, then came a hiss, a screech.  
He dropped the EMF detector, covering his ears with his left hand and arm, clamping his firearm in a ready stance with his right.

The screeching became a grinding, whining, grating as a flicker of royal blue pulsated at the epicenter of the dust storm. Pulsated. Then, quivering, it materialized. A box, the size of a phone booth. It was blue-a blue phone booth size box-which read in block letters around the top-"police call box."

He approached, his weapon ready, digging through his mind at what it might be.  
The oddity of it defied normal monsters...  
Something more like a Trickster, or a tulpa...  
Yet, neither of those felt quite right. Why would a tulpa be out there, and...hadn't the one Trickster they knew been the late Gabriel?  
No, he decided, this was some new evil.

He was only a few steps from the box when the door burst open, smoke pouring out. He coughed, aiming into the green-black haze of the phone box as a sputtering figure appeared from its depths.

"Show yourself," Sam warned, gun aimed at the stranger.  
"You know, it's quite alright. You don't need to shout," replied the figure in its British accent as it emerged from the haze-a pair of ingenious brown eyes set in a grinning face of a man in a disheveled suit.

The man smirked a bit, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, as he said to Sam in an unhurried way,"Relax, I'm unarmed."

Sam shifted, taking a step closer, replying, "I'll be the judge of that."

The man made a face at Sam as a splash of liquid dribbled down his jacket-front, sent from a squeeze-bottle in Sam's possession.

"Really, was that quite necessary?" the man quipped.

"Can't be too careful," Sam replied, as he checked the stranger over for weapons.

Sam's search was rewarded when he felt a bulge of something metallic in the man's jacket pocket, which he grabbed, much to the irritation of the subject of his frisking.

"Hey! Careful, that's my screwdriver you're holding!" The man sounded substantially more annoyed than worried.

Sam, puzzled, turned it over in his hand.

"You mean this thing?"

"Yes, it's my screwdriver." The stranger from the phone box sounded particularly self-satisfied at Sam's puzzlement.

Sam squinted at the metallic pen-sized gadget, muttering to himself,  
"Yeah, sure..."

He stood examining it, "Yeah, you just stay right there. Don't move."

After a long moment, the man said, "You know, I"d like it back," reaching for it.

"Hey!" Sam snapped, lifting his gun to point at the man again, "I told you not to move. You know, you have some explaining to do. For starters, what in the hell are you?"

The strange man stepped back to lean against the side of the phone box, a look of amusement crossing his face.  
"Now, why would I tell you that?"

"I may not know what you are, but we can see how you like bullets."

"No, not particularly fond of bullets. So, how about a deal?"

"No deals," Sam snapped, mind reeling.

Demon? How?..the holy water-borate solution should have shown something. That, and a demon wouldn't mind the gun...

''OK, OK. Could you put that thing away?" The man raised both hands in a look-I'm-unarmed-shrug, and waved his hand at the gun.

Sam lowered his weapon, a look of reluctance crossing his face.

"Why should I trust you that much?"

"Really? You've got my only tool. My screwdriver. It's a very special screwdriver-and this-this is not my idea of a good conversation. That whole gun thing ruins it. I was just suggesting a trade, that's all. I will tell you who I am if you tell me when and where we are."

"Well, who, what are you? Did the Angels send you?"

"No. Which angels are we talking about? The Weeping Angels?"

Sam rolled his eyes, muttering. "Weeping angels? No, no. Did Crowley?"

"What's a Crowley? It doesn't sound very pleasant." The stranger grinned oddly.

"No, it's-he's-not pleasant at all. But, if you really don't know who he is..." Sam sighed.

"Then you're wondering who sent me." The stranger finished.

Sam was slightly startled at the man's aptitude for guessing his thoughts.

"It's alright. I'll tell you, spare you the bother. Nobody sent me. I brought myself. Well, more like crashed here. My ship- she's a bit under the weather." The stranger stroked the side of the box beside him, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Anyway, how I got here aside, we should start again-no guns. Hello, I'm the Doctor. And you are-"

"Sam." He replied grudgingly. Sam wasn't exactly sure what the man was playing at, but he wasn't buying it. He tensed his hold on his gun, which was still in his hand, ready for whatever might come next.

"Hello, Sam."

"Okay, I don't know what you're trying to do, but I'm still waiting for an answer."

"Yes, of course. What I am. I'm from far away."

"Could you be a little more specific?" Sam rolled his eyes.

"Well, I could ask you for your end of the deal-I still don't know where or when I am."

"Fine. Fine. We're in Kansas. It's 2013. And, you came in, what, your ship?"

"Yes, my ship, the Tardis. We've gone lots of places together."

"You and your Tardis, you're from-"

"Far, far away. I'd tell you but you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

"Alright. What harm can it do-no one remembers me anyways-I'm the last of my kind. From the planet Gallifrey.  
I'm a Time Lord."

"So you're-you're a god?" Sam flinched at the man's pronunciation. A god; the last thing he wanted to deal with.

Especially given their annoying powers and taste for people.

"No, not exactly."

He reached for the archangel sword in the back of his belt. He'd never tried one on a god, but it couldn't hurt. In the least, he could cut a stake from something with it...

"You know, I'd really not mind a bit if you could put that knife you're getting out away."

"Sorry, 'fraid not," Sam replied, swinging his arm with the sword around to point it menacingly at the Doctor.

"Not until you tell me what you are."

"I've BEEN telling you! Augh, humans-"

"So you're not a god, but you're not human, either."

"No! I'm a Time Lord. There's a difference!"

"And that means...?"

"I'm what you'd call an alien."

"You've got to be kidding."

"No, Sam, I'm really not. And if you'd give me back my screwdriver, I could show you."

Sam lowered his sword, grimacing in indecision. If this guy was tricking him, this could be a big mistake. Why would an alien carry around a screwdriver? If he even really was an alien... Yet, for a reason he couldn't begin to identify, some part of him wanted to trust him. OK, it was the eyes. He had honest eyes.

"Fine. But don't try anything funny," Sam said, reluctantly handing the man the gadget.

"Thank you. Now, you see, this is no ordinary screwdriver."

The Doctor squeezed a button.

Sam watched in amazement as the device began to hum, a blue light pulsing-

"It's sonic. And-"

The man pointed the device at himself, activating some sort of setting, Sam realized, as the sound it was making changed.

"If you listen closely, you'll hear-"  
Sam's jaw dropped.

"Heartbeats." they said at once.

"But it's two."

"Yes, my heartbeats. Because Time Lords-we have two hearts."

"Well," Sam muttered, still marveling at the thud of the man's hearts he heard through the device. " Maybe you are a, uh,Time Lord."

"Yes. And, now that you believe me, might we continue our conversation on the more amiable terms of you not trying to kill me?"

"Alright." Sam sighed, sheathing the sword.

"But don't think you're just going to walk away. I've got questions for you."

"Very well. As have I for you."

Sam smirked. This guy seemed to think himself invulnerable. A bit like the Angels, only a little less irritable. More good-natured. He was actually capable of sarcasm, worrying about his precious gadget while a gun was pointed at him. Well, considering that, maybe just crazy.

"Sure. After you answer mine. Can you die?"

"Well, as you can see, I haven't, yet, that is. Not really, at least. Anyways-answer mine-"

"Is Marilyn Monroe hot?"

"Uh, yeah!" Sam laughed.

"Good to hear. She certainly was when she dragged me to the chapel!"

Sam scoffed. Who was this 'Doctor', and if he was serious about having hooked up with Marilyn...well, he didnt look old enough to have met her. So time travel, falling out of the sky, not an angel, definitely not Leviathan or demon...but not minding the sunlight like a vampire...and he claimed not a god. So what was left...maybe he really was a Time Lord. Whatever the hell that was...

" Ah, moving on. Was there an invasion of London a few years ago during Christmas?"

"No." Sam looked at him, puzzled.

"Hmm. That, paired with the fact that it smells decidedly more spicy here, I'll say this is a parallel universe. Again..."

"Wait. You mean like a different world? You've done that too?" Sam was suddenly excited.

"Too, meaning that you have? I'd never have guessed many ordinary humans would have that experience," replied the Doctor.

"Well, we're not exactly what you'd call ordinary, me and my brother, that is."

"Interesting. Care to tell me more about yourselves?"

"You wouldn't believe half of it." Sam said.

"Care to find out? Because, Sam, I have stories too. Believe me. Quite a few stories."

"Would they involve the apocalypse?" Sam wasn't entirely sure why he was suddenly spilling everything to this guy, but there was just a feeling he got from him, now that they were talking. Something ancient, tired, yet... deeply true. Something trustworthy.

"No, but the end of time and the universe, yes."

"There's an end of time?"

"Where I'm from, there is."

"Well, here we've had our share of fending off the end of the world. Unfortunately, it seems to keep coming back to bite us in the ass."

"That's rather unfortunate. Does yours have teeth?"

"Yeah. Big teeth. Whenever we get rid of one, new ones come. " Sam replied, his mind flashing to the various moments of destruction, pain, and desperation he'd seen through the last eight years. Big teeth was an understatement. Try kill you, rip your soul out, and spit you out again alive teeth. No escape, not even in death... Yeah, those were some infinitely big teeth.

"Do you ever tire of it?" Sam saw the Doctor's expression change to a look of something like sadness. It seemed almost as if he was hinting at something he found...shameful...Sam decided. He was disclosing in some way, something he was ashamed of. Ashamed...of being tired?

"All the time. But we can't just quit. It won't let us."

"Won't let you. Oh, you know, don't you? It never does let you quit. Humanity always needs saving. Always needs someone to fix it..." The Doctor trailed off.

"Well, yeah."

"And that falls to us." The Doctor gave Sam a knowing look.

"Us?"

"Worlds other than yours also require saving." Whatever depth there had been was gone. He was grinning again, as if something Sam had said was funny.

"No, you said 'us.' Why say that?." He was trying to trick him into moving on, he thought. No, he deserved to know what this meant. Needed to know. They weren't even the same species, or from the same universe. How on earth could that warrant an 'us'?

"Well, it's odd, really, like finding a stranger that looks like you in an unexpected place. We aren't quite so different as you might think, Sam. I mean, you're human, but you feel to me much older than that. Like you've lived more than you want to live. Like someone who has died."

"How do you know that?" He was stupid, letting himself be taken in by whatever this man projected. He knew too much...he was spilling his guts without even realizing it. Sam put his hand on his gun.

"What are you, a psychic alien?"

"Well, yes. Although being fully psychic, the telepathy, can be really quite painful. Last time-poor Craig-gave us both splitting headaches."

Headaches. Nosebleeds. All the blood. Withdrawal... He somehow couldn't see this man's version of psychic ability as being what his had been. And he'd never really been telepathic, anyways...

"So you're psychic. But you're not reading my mind. So how do you know?" Sam drew his gun with a shaking hand, holding it in what he hoped looked like a casual way pointed at the ground. Best to project confidence...even if what was going on was as far from it as possible. Why did this guy bother him so much? It wasn't like vamps, or demons, or even angels...

"Sam, I'm not trying to scare you. You don't have to hold your silly little gun. I don't have any weapons. I don't do weapons. I don't need weapons. And I can tell about you because we're a bit alike. I've died before, in a way, at least. I don't just die. Not like humans do. It works differently for Time Lords. But I know how it is. That's why I said 'us.''

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because, Sam, even if I don't die, I don't want you to shoot me. And I don't want you to think you have to. Killing isn't good, Sam. Then, I think you probably know that, too. You even try not to, when you think you can."

"I don't want to kill you, but you're not human. You're not like anything I've ever met before. And that usually means dangerous."

"Relax, Sam. You care about humans, and I'm not dangerous to humans. Daleks, sure. Cybermen? Any day. Because of what they do to humans. But you humans, no, you'll live to populate the stars. At least in my universe, you do. Yours, I don't know. You seem to have other forces at play."

Other forces? Heaven and Hell...battleground, Earth...

"Other forces like you can't imagine."

"Really? I'd be interested to see if it's so unlike what I can imagine," he replied.

"We keep coming back to the same question," Sam replied, both amused and wearied," Of why I should trust you."

"Well, Sam, if you let me move from here, let me help you, I think you'd find plenty of reasons."

"Why would you want to help me?"

"I've been telling you, Sam, we're really a lot alike. And I like people. We're on the same side."

"Fine. Fine. But, tell me something, since you're from somewhere else, what's with the whole box falling from the sky thing?"

"She's my Tardis. Time And Relative Dimension in Space. You really should see her, although she's a bit under the weather right now. Repair protocols engaging. We could have a tiny peek, though. Come on! I think you'll find it quite informative."

The Doctor snapped his fingers, and just like that, the door opened. Sam chuckled. Showy much?

"Come on, Sam! First human in your universe to ever, ever see this!"

"I really don't-"

"Come on, Sam, I insist!"

"Fine."

Sam reluctantly followed the man through the door into the box, which was-

Definitely not a box.


	2. Not Just A Box Chapter two

He stepped inside onto a wooden floorboard, seeing ahead of him, metallic floors, wildly twisting struts stretching to the ceiling, scattered with oddly colored lights: an octagonal antechamber, with a flashing, chirping island of equipment in its center.

"It's-it's-" Sam began, as he gazed about himself, awed. What the hell was this...Tardis...

"Bigger on the inside?" The Doctor prompted enthusiastically.

"I was going to say more like a trip."

"Touche." The Doctor sounded somewhat insulted.

Sam shook his head, brushing sweat and hair out of his eyes.

"No, no, it's incredible. It's like nothing I've ever seen, and-believe me. I've really seen it all."

"Not all. Hardly all of it! You haven't left your earth, have you?" The Doctor was getting more excited by the moment.

"Yeah, sorry, I have. Heaven. Hell. Parallel universe thanks to a, uh, friend of ours," Sam replied, feeling distinctively like a killjoy. Somehow this guy was taking such a childlike pleasure from this. His bewilderment. Weird guy. Doctor...whatever kind of name was that...

"Heaven? Hell? Are you kidding me?" His voice rose in sheer excitement. "I've never been to either! How is it you've been to both and I haven't?" The last bit sounded almost…sulky, Sam decided.

Imagine that…sulky about not having seen Hell?

'You have to die first. Kind of ruins the whole 'just a visit' thing." Sam replied, pacing up a ramp towards the machinery core in the center of the room.

"Oh, true, that is. Although disappointing, I have to say. Don't suppose they offer tourism!"

"Not really into that side of things," Sam replied. Yeah. Crowley would take tourists. Fee of passage, one soul...

"Too bad. Their loss."

"Yeah, their loss," Sam muttered absently, still reeling with amazement from his view of the inside of the not-just-a-box box.

"Now that you've seen her, we can go," The Doctor said. "I'd usually offer a complimentary trip, but that isn't quite possible at the moment."

"Well, what I've got isn't quite as...expansive...but, it will do. Where do you need to go?"

"Well, something to eat would be brilliant, really. Crash landing isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"OK. Town's just a few miles east."

Sam and the Doctor exited the Tardis, the Doctor locking it with a skeleton key from the outside.

"So you'll just leave it here?" Sam asked.

"Yes. Why, after all, those blue doors withstood the assembled hordes of Ghengis Khan. I doubt there's anything here that could hurt her." The Doctor smiled as he spoke.

"If you say so." Sam replied, chuckling. This guy was a character...

He motioned to the Impala, which sat gleaming in the sun ahead. "Get in."

As they walked to the car, Sam got out his phone. Pressing speed dial, he reached Dean's voicemail.

"Hey, Dean, I just found something. Meet me at that diner on the corner of First and Main soon as you can. There's somebody you should talk to."

With that, they both got in, speeding away as the engine roared to life.

The ride into town was short, peppered by questions from the Doctor.

"What do you and your brother do, exactly?"

"We hunt things."

"What kind of things?"

"Bad things." Sam sighed.

As much as he wanted to trust this guy, he was still several kinds of uncomfortable revealing the whole I'm-a-hunter thing.

It just never ended well.

"And what would qualify as bad things here in your world?"

"Take your pick: Vampires, ghosts, ghouls. Demons."

"Demons? Fascinating!"

"No. Bad. Demons are evil-"

"Well, evil is subjective! Daleks would call me evil. But, really, I'd say they are. Cold, unfeeling, hateful-"

"Perpetual stick up their asses? Manipulative as hell?" Sam laughed.

"One could say that, although they were really just made that way. Oh, but their grating little voices, too,

'exterminate.' 'Exterminate!'"

"Exterminate what?"

"Everything. But especially humans. Which is why I have to get to them first. They fear me. They call me _the Oncoming Storm_."

"Huh, some name," Sam chuckled. "So, what, you're a hunter? An alien alien hunter?"

"No, no, not a hunter. I only fight them when I have to. I've...been trying to stay away from the warrior sort of thing. It it doesn't pay. Not when you're as old as I am and have as many enemies. I have to stay in the shadows."

"So you're a wanted man?"

"In a sense, I suppose."

"By who? I've done FBI before. Under the radar sucks. Off the grid-" Sam flashed back to the months of borrowed cars, abandoned buildings, rigged electricity, no hot water... At least Bobby had been with them, then...

"The Silence."

"The what?"

"The Silence. They're a religious order. They want me dead. I break every one of their rules. Mainly that Silence must fall when the question is asked..."

"What question?"

"Sorry, Sam, but I really mustn't tell you."

"What? I can take care of myself, Doc."

"It's Doctor. And, no, I don't really think you could against these. Fighting them nearly ended the universe once. River-oh, well. You don't need to hear anymore about that. It's from my world."

Sam laughed. "You really have no idea what our end's like, either. World damn near ended."

"What was that like?"

Sam flinched at the memories. "Long. Messy. Hell of a lot of good people died."

"Sorry to hear that. I-I've lost people too."

"Friends of yours?"

"The very best. The best people."

They both stopped talking, a knowing silence filling the car. Sam wondered at how he and this man, odd in every way imaginable, this two-hearted stranger, supposedly from another universe, could have so much in common.

They came to a halt in the gravel lot outside a building with a flickering neon sign that read 'The Riverside Diner,' in fluorescent blue and pink.

"River," muttered the Doctor.

"River?" Sam asked. The way he says that….it's like he's thinking of someone, Sam thought.

"She-oh, never mind. It's not….not to do with anything, really."

"She was somebody to you?" Sam replied, feeling all over again the loss of leaving Amelia.

"Yeah. Is, was; it's rather complicated."

"Complicated seems to be a rule for hunters," Sam observed. Complicated? Try impossible, he thought.

"Well, enough sitting around. I'm starving!" declared the Doctor, batting away the grim mood that had fallen over them.

They both got out of the Impala, and made their way towards the diner.

"Say, do you know how the food is here," asked the Doctor.

"No idea. We're not from here, we're just passing through."

"So you're travelers too, then."

"Yeah, guess so," replied Dean, from where he had been waiting, leaning against the wall.

"Sam, who is this guy?" He asked, moving to meet them just outside the door of the restaurant.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor," the Doctor volunteered cheerily, continuing, "And you must be Dean."

"Yeah. Uh, look, I need a minute with my brother," Dean replied, flashing a fake smile, hiding the tenseness underneath.

"Right then. I'll save a table for us," the Doctor replied before pulling open the door and disappeared inside.

Once he was out of earshot, Dean let loose, dropping the front.

"What is it that's so important? And who the hell is this dude?"

"Dean, he's not human."

….


	3. Chapter 3

"Not human? Then what the hell did you bring him here for? You know how this went last time, Sam!" Dean moved towards the door, his hand on his gun. He was several sorts of furious, Sam could tell by the steely tone his voice had taken.

"Just let me finish!" Sam said, grabbing his shoulder to stop him. Dean grimaced, but stopped, his expression saying the nonverbal equivalent of this better be good.

"He's not human, but he's nothing else we've ever seen before, either."

"And that's better how, exactly?" Dean angrily kicked a rock into the parking lot as he spoke.

"He's not from here. Or anywhere else we know."

"You know, how, because he said so?" Dean's derision was biting.

"He came in a box, Dean! A big, blue box, that just appeared out of nowhere. This is gonna sound crazy, but listen. His box just kind of materialized out of a windstorm."

"A box?" He sounded something between unbelieving and deflated. "You do realize you sound absolutely insane, even for us, Sammy."

"I know. But he did. He came in a box. And it's not just a box, somehow, inside, it's a spaceship." Sam wished he'd said something else, anything else, as soon as he'd said it. No…here we go again…. He knew he was pushing it.

"Shit, man. Just, shit." Dean muttered, scowling.

Sam sighed.

"So, you're saying what, he's an alien?"

"Yeah, Dean, I am."

"You really think-" Dean nodded at the Doctor, who was waving to them through the window from where he sat in a booth, "-that he's like, friggin' ET?"

"Yes." Sam groaned inwardly. This conversation wasn't going anywhere, and better yet, Dean was getting suspicious. Not that he didn't have reason to….

"Are you sure? You're not having issues again? Because Dad, Bobby, they all said there's no such thing."

"I know it doesn't make sense! But I'm saying, there is. Remember when we didn't think there were angels? He has two hearts. And the box, it was bigger, it was a spaceship, on the inside. And he had this gadget, this, sonic thing. He says he's from another universe."

"OK, OK. So maybe he's an alien. From this, other universe. How do we know he won't haul off and start trying to kill people? Like everything else we deal with?"

"He likes people-he has human friends, where he's from."

"You believe him, just because he said so?" Dean sounded exasperated.

"He's a lot like us, Dean," Sam replied.

"Really?" Dean scoffed.

"Yes. He's not like the things we hunt. He acts like he's human. A little crazy, maybe, but not homicidal. And he said-he says he hunts things. Like us."

"You're saying this guy's an alien-hunting alien? That came in a blue box? You know that's got to be the craziest shit I've ever heard, Sam."

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying Dean, no matter how crazy it is. Because it's the truth. And, y'know, it wouldn't kill you to give me a little credit would it? You had Benny! Don't I deserve the same chance?"

"Fine. We can't just leave him in there with all those people. I guess while we're at it, we can talk to him." Dean sounded exhausted.

"Agreed."

"But you know how it goes, first sign of anything weird, we deal with him," Dean finished, walking towards the doors.

"Let's just talk to him," Sam said, following his brother into the diner.

As they entered, Sam saw the Doctor off to the side, at a table near the window, waving to them.

Dean stalked over to the table, agitation showing subtly in the tenseness of his face. Sam followed more slowly, ready to put out fires.

"Look! Look at the root beer!" An ebullient Doctor called out as he brandished a tankard of the fizzing beverage.

"Yeah, OK, Buddy,' Dean said as he slid into the booth, having reached the table before his brother.

He shot Sam a look over his shoulder that said without words, 'Alien? He's off his rocker!'

"Sam filled me in on most of it, but I'm still a little hazy on the details," Dean continued, leaning his elbows on the table, staring at the Doctor in the most intimidating way he could muster.

"So, tell me, What the hell are you?"

Sam wordlessly took a seat beside Dean, not bothering to interrupt the exchange between the two.

"Oh, don't mind me. I'm just a madman with a box." The Doctor smiled mischeiviously.

"Yeah, a little more specific than that?" He replied gruffly, rolling his eyes.

"Look, are we going to talk, or are we going to eat? Because I'm _starving_!" The Doctor rejoined.

Sam noticed the incremental increase in the tightness of Dean's jaw. Whether or not the Doctor knew it, he was pushing it.

"Yeah, what the heck," Sam began, in what he hoped would be a building-bridges sort of move, "Let's go ahead and eat. We can talk over food."

"Great!" The Doctor exclaimed.

Dean merely grunted in response, gazing moodily out the window.

As they shuffled through their menus, Sam felt his phone vibrate. A notification for a text popped up onscreen, which he tapped to read.

It was from Dean.

_He's a crazy bastard alright. _

Sam tapped his reply on the touchscreen, and kept reading his menu, knowing Dean had received it when he heard him scoff at reading:

_So? Other people would say the same about us. _

The reply was one word:

_Seriously?!_


	4. Chapter 4

"Yeah, seriously," Sam muttered.

"Hey," cut in the bored voice of the waiter. "What can I do ya for?"

"Well, I'll have fish fingers," The Doctor replied.

"That all for you?"

"Mm, maybe some custard!"

"Custard? We got egg custard, if that's OK."

"Brilliant!"

Dean and Sam exchanged incredulous looks at the pronouncement.

"What the hell?" They could read the words off each other's faces.

"OK, so what about you two?"

"Me? Oh, I'll have your double chili burger combo, extra chili, and a uh, large pop," Dean replied.

"Chef salad, and a water," Sam finished the group's order.

"Still on the diet kick, man?" Dean prodded.

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's comment as the waiter walked off.

"Well, now that he's gone, we can get to the nitty gritty," he continued.

"Dean—"

"Don't 'Dean' me, Sammy!" he snapped back.

"Look, all I'm saying is—"

"Enough! You two, like a bloody married couple. What is it you want to ask me? Are you as keen on killing me as the rest of the world seems?" The Doctor cut in, banging his mug on the table. "We can settle this in a civilized fashion if you allow. So, come on then, out with it!"

"OK, first of all, who in the hell are you, really? And what are you doing here?" his voice was edged in steel.

"I am the Doctor."

"Doctor Who?"

"The Doctor. You don't know me, your world doesn't know me, but I am The Doctor. That's what everyone calls me. Tried The Rotmeister once but it really didn't stick—anyways, I am, The Doctor."

"Well. Gee, thanks for clarifying that." His voice dripped sarcasm.

"Look, he's really not that bad," Sam began.

"Thanks, buddy, we're having it between us, man to man," Dean cut him off.

Sam sighed irritably, crossing his arms and turning to look across the diner. "Fine. But I'm telling you, he's not like the rest of them."

"Where were we, oh, yeah what exactly you are and where the hell you came from."

"I am a Time Lord, the last of my kind. From another universe, a planet called Gallifrey. And if you want to kill me, whatever, it's not like you're the first, or the last. Your brother at least listens, you just…you and your guns. I know you have one there, in your jacket. But I'm not afraid of you. Know that. You don't scare me, Dean Winchester."

"OK, then, so you're a—a Time what?" Dean sputtered.

"You'd call me an alien. I presume your brother filled you in already, but you're not quite ready to believe it yet. Look, take my pulse." He extended his hand towards Dean.

"Why? You kidding me?" Dean smirked with incredulity.

"Just do it," Sam urged him, his voice tired.

"Fine, Time boy, but I don't see what this changes." Dean reached for the Doctor's wrist, prodding with his first and second finger, his expression clouding with confusion.

"I—you—what you got some sort of heart flutter?"

"No, I have two hearts."

"You what?"

"Time Lords have two hearts."

"Fine. Just….Fine. So, look, if you are a Time Lord, what are you doing here?"

"My ship crashed. Sam kindly brought me to get something to eat while she runs her repair sequence."

"Your ship? So you really are a freaking alien, what, with a spaceship? You don't secrete some—some hallucinogen to make my brother believe all this crap?"

"What? No! I crashed here in my Tardis. And, yes, I suppose in the simplest terms, she is, a spaceship."

"Dean, you saw for yourself, he has two heartbeats. How long are you going to go on like this?" Sam pleaded.

"Fine. But, you really had me worried, Sammy. It—it wouldn't be the first time—"

"The first time I lost my mind? But I'm past that, Dean. It would have been nice if you'd have believe me, just once, though!"

"Hey, hey! Look, I had to make sure. That's all. Fine. You were right, I was wrong, he's a freaking alien from freaking Galliwhoza."

"Gallifrey." The Doctor corrected him.

"Whatever!"

They paused as their drinks arrived, Dean nodding to the waitress.

"So, my brother said you hunt things."

"No, I don't hunt. I travel. Through space and time."

"So out of everything, that's what's made up?"

"Well, there are the species that have to be kept in check."

"Like? Demons? Angels? Vampires? Rugaru? Werewolves? Ghouls, ghosts, what? What do you hunt out there in your shiny little spaceship?"

"Angels, yes, I've fought the angels. Vampires once but they weren't really vampires, they were fish from Saturnyne in Venice. And the lycanthrope was quite an experience, shame, Vicky became a bit prickly after that one. Enemy of the realm, and such."

"Enemy of _whose_ realm?"

"Queen Victoria's. Torchwood, she started the institute just to track me down. Didn't really work out though." He smiled wryly.


End file.
